Five Relationships That Worked Out
by fieldofyellowdandelions
Summary: There is a popular challenge floating around, especially in Buffy fanfiction, called the “Five Things That Aren't True Challenge”. This is my response it the question, What if those relationships that hadn't worked out, had? NOW REVISED
1. Duty: Giles and Jenny

**Duty: Giles and Jenny**

The clock in the hall strikes two and Jenny Giles (what an odd name, she thinks fleetingly. Even now, after all these years, the combination catches her off guard.) looks up from her computer. She's working on a book, the story of her life. A book most would take for fiction and only a select few would not.

Jenny pushes away from the desk; her chair rolls across the hard wood floor. No more writing today. Her guests will be here soon.

Jenny looks around her study and frowns. If the rest of the house looks like this, and it does, they'll know she's been working all day. They'll worry that she's wearing herself out and that she's not properly enjoying her retirement. They don't seem to understand that keeping busy keeps her happy.

Jenny stands up and walks over to the fire place. Despite the name, a fire hasn't burnt there in over two decades. Now the mantel is a convenient surface for the collection of framed photographs. A life captured in a dozen 3 and a half by 5 inch frames.

Jenny picks up the nearest picture, the last complete family photo: Jenny and Rupert with their three daughters. The photo was taken back when Hailey was 13, ten years ago.

_How much a girl can change in ten years._ Jenny thought to herself, _How much a family can change._

Hailey had been such a sweetie at thirteen, slower to reach those rebellious teens than many of her peers. She had dreams she had written up in her diary and never let anyone read. Jenny knows because she has read them, uninvited, concerned that her daughter may have been living some double life on her, like Emily. Emily who hid drugs in her jewellery box and slept with men twice her age. Emily who lost her virginity before her older sister.

But Hailey's secrets had been normal teenage secrets. Safe secrets and Jenny was content to let her keep them. Jenny knows all about secrets. She has her own, after all, which she keeps from everyone: her friends, her children, her husband. Especially her husband. These are secrets she doesn't dare write down, secrets she will take to her grave.

Jenny's glad that Hailey wants to be a watcher and wants to learn about the slayers. Otherwise, the duty would fall to the oldest, Rachel, who cared nothing for her father's occupation. Rachel, who never liked school, never cared for writing or taking tests. She was far too concrete, better at mechanics than mathematics. But she would suffer though, because she understands duty. Something Jenny can appreciate. She loves her daughter for it and loathes her at the same time.

Rupert understood duty too. Even in the end, with cancer in his lungs, too weak to walk, barely able to sit up, he did his duty. His last days were passed in seclusion with his youngest daughter, passing on his watcher wisdom with his last breath. Duty kept Hailey at his side and duty kept Jenny from not interrupting.

Duty was a harsh word.

That was five years ago. Jenny kisses her fingers and touches the photo of her husband. A photo of how she always wants to remember him. His duty, long and hard with few rewards, was done.

Life hadn't been all duty, of course. And not all duties had been unpleasant.

Buffy had been such a duty. Even after all those years, Rupert has remembered her with such fondness. Even after all those years, he remembered her with such sadness.

Jenny steps away from the mantel. Soon she will hear the car drive up to the garage, the gravel crackling under the tires. She will be waiting with the door wide open. She will greet her daughter and son-in-law and fat grandchildren with hugs and exclamations of joy.

She will leave the sadness she feels for Buffy's death and the role she played in it behind with Rupert's photo on the mantel. She will forget the sadness she didn't feel when the newly resouled vampire with the angelic face stepped into the sun. All she will remember is the relief that such a creature is gone.

**End**

**Author Notes:** This has, by far, been the hardest chapter to write. It's the first one you read but the last one I wrote. To be honest, I considered cutting it out all together because I simply couldn't seem to write it. The title started out by being "Fat Grandchildren", referring to that comment The First, as Jenny, said to Angel. But as I wrote it, it turned into something else. The fat grandchild only managed to make a brief appearance at the end.


	2. Full Moon: Willow and Oz

**Full Moon: Willow and Oz**

The full moon is out. They've built a fire between them, warm and bright. Oz is sitting cross legged, hands in his lap, eyes closed. Willow sits across from him but instead of folding her hands, they hold a tranquilizer gun and her eyes are open.

These nights together are different every full moon. Sometimes they talk. Sometimes they are quiet. Sometimes they play board games and, occasionally, they have sex. But the tranquilizer gun is always the constant. It is never far from Willow's reach.

Oz hasn't slipped in over a year but it is best not to tempt fate, so their all night vigilantes continue every full moon. Oz can handle the night before and the night after but on the full moon, he can still slip.

When they went to Tibet and learned the mediation and the herbs, they had thought they had found the cure. They hadn't. The wolf still could find its way out. Oz would never be rid of it. But it could be controlled. Most nights it could be controlled.

"Why do you stay with me?" Oz asked as they sat in the moonlight.

Willow wasn't quite sure how to answer, so she took her time, to gather her thoughts. Oz waited patiently. He understood. He approved.

There are a lot of reasons to go. This is really Oz's quest, not hers. They live in a van, for one, technically homeless. At first, it was quaint but it got old fast. These days Willow craves a private bathroom and a real bed that are not part of some sleazy motel room. She's learned all motel rooms are sleazy and Oz hates them all. He says he can smell the sex and the dirt. Willow believes him without question.

She never finished school, though travelling the world with a werewolf boyfriend is an education in its own right.

She misses her friends and, occasionally, her parents but not enough to pay the money to call them so they can spend an hour telling her what a mistake she made quitting university. She calls Xander though. And it's good to hear his voice from thousand of miles away. Good to know he's still alive, still with Anya and still looking after Dawn.

Phoning makes Willow feel less guilty about Buffy dying. It still hurts Willow that she wasn't there. Not that she could have saved her. Not much of a chance of a minor witch standing up against a hell god. Still… Willow pushes away the thoughts. That way leads to pain and not any closer to an answer for Oz's question.

Willow can't clearly remember the day she choose Oz. It's all a haze in her memory. She came to his room and found his stuff gone. She'd confronted Devon and demanded to be told where Oz was. She's left the next day and by the time the haze had cleared, she was on a bus over a hundred miles away from Sunnydale.

She spent three months tracking him, first across country and then across the world. For a girl all alone and without a lot of cash, she did pretty well. Or so she figured. She survived. She finally caught up with him in Germany. It seemed to her as though he was waiting for her, though he insisted it wasn't the case.

He never insisted she go home. He only suggested once and let it drop after Willow had refused.

Yes, there were a lot reasons to go but only one to stay.

Willow smiled at Oz, "Because I love you."

They watch the moon fully set before drowning out the fire and climbing back into the van to sleep the morning away. They'll continue their trek this afternoon. They're headed north, into the mountains. They've heard there is a hermit who might have the cure. Oz is hopeful. Willow is too but the tranquilizer gun is never far.

**End**


	3. Argentina Nights: Spike and Dru

**Argentina Nights: Spike and Dru**

Spike had resisted to returning to South America but Dru had insisted and Spike had given in. He was never one to deny Dru and, he figured as long as they stayed out of Brazil, they'd be fine. They went to Argentina. They killed a couple of middle aged tourists, stealing their wallets and hotel reservations.

As it turned out, returning to South America was the best thing that had happened to Spike since getting Dru back. 'Cause there be slayers here.

Well, one. There was only ever one, after all. One bite the dust and another one sprung up. There was only one but there was always one. If this one had brown hair, instead of blond, it made no difference. A slayer was a slayer.

Spike's not sorry to learn that someone had finally done in that Buffy bitch; he just wished he'd been the one to do it. He'd have loved to have been the one to drink her dry. Very drinkable that one. Fuckable too.

It was probably the killing of the tourists that had sent this new slayer after them. In hindsight, they probably shouldn't have stolen the couple's credit card.

Not that Spike was complaining. He hasn't had a decent fight in days and the girl was new but not so new as to still be careful. She was eager, stupid with confidence in her new found strength but her moves were clumsy, as if she didn't quite trust her instincts yet.

Spike knew this would be an easy win, even before the first punch. He had been patient this time round. Buffy had taught him that much. He'd done his homework and things were tipped in his favour. No watcher. No gang of friends. No mom with a bloody axe to splice his head open.

The girl had spunk, he'd give her that. He played with her a bit, had given her the impression that she might come out of this alive. But always he made sure he had the upper hand. And when he grew tired of the games, he broke her legs. Simple as that.

The sudden flood of realization and emotion that crossed the slayer's face made him laugh. So quickly she realized that she hadn't a chance, had never had a chance. Shock, anger, and finally, delicious fear.

He pulled her close to him, smelling her sweat, hearing her moans of pain. Already, her body was healing her but she'd be dead long before she could walk, let alone fight.

Spike couldn't resist. He kissed her, deeply, and noticed her pierced tongue. He took the barb between his teeth and yanked his head back. They both howled, she in pain, him with lust.

He spat out the barb, it skittered across the ground and into a drain.

His kissed her again. He couldn't resist. Her mouth was full of sweet, warm blood. It was driving him wild. But she is no longer fighting against him and when he checked, she had slipped into unconsciousness.

His predatory grin widen. He could drink her dry now but really, slayer blood is a thing best shared between lovers. Dru would appreciate the gesture.

It was no trouble sneaking the girl in to the hotel. No alerts were sounded because no one was around to sound them since Spike had slipped in the back door and took back stairway. And even if someone did look his way, it would only seem like he was taking his girl back to her room after a night out too late and with too much to drink.

Dru was right where Spike left her, sitting by the window, gazing out over the city, petting a dead dog in her lap. Spike wrinkled his nose at that. The corpse was starting to go rank. The maids would start to notice something soon. But that wouldn't be a problem, Spike decided. They would be leaving tonight. This is going to be messy.

"Come here, luv. I've got a treat for you."

Dru turned slowly in the moonlight and Spike found himself falling in love with her all over again.

"I knew you'd be bringing me something sweet." Dru said, as she floated over, "What a good boy you are."

They drank together and then fell upon each other, their bodies flush with fresh, stolen blood, a dead slayer on the floor and a new one about to be called.

**End**

**Author Notes:** Nothing to report, except that the slayer is suppose to be Kennedy.


	4. Acting in LA: Xander and Cordy

**Acting in LA: Xander and Cordy**

There are days Xander wonders if he's in love. And there are days he knows he is. Today is the latter. He wants to stand on the roof of the Hyperion and shout, "I love Cordelia Chase!" over and over until everyone in the city has heard. Or until Angel yelled at him to get down.

He knows he must love her because he stays. He has nothing holding him here, just a girl with chocolate hair, starlet eyes, a sarcastic smile. And the knowledge that she loves him because she lets him stay.

Angel Investigations: Helping the Hopeless or Hope for the Helpless. The slogan sees to change from day to day. Angel is the detective, with Cordy as his secretary, Doyle as the vision guy and Wesley as, well, whatever Wesley brings to the table. Watcher knowledge, maybe.

Xander's not sure what he provides to this little group. Occasionally they call him up because they need a little extra muscle or someone who'll fix the windows for cheap. Mostly he's just Cordy's boyfriend, which is okay. Better than some things he's been called. And he can enjoy making fun of Angel's hair, if nothing else.

Xander wonders, in his more reflective moments, how he got here. It's not a hard question to answer. If he takes the time, he can trace back to the exact moment his life changed, the night before he was about to leave for his America tour. There had been a knock at the door and on the other side was his future, in the form of Cordelia Chase.

"You going to LA?"

"Why?"

"I want to get to LA and I don't want to pay for a bus ticket. You going?"

He's wasn't planning to but he said "Yes" anyways. LA hadn't sounded bad.

The car broke down just outside LA and was sold for scrap metal, leaving Xander stranded some place he didn't want to be with someone he didn't want to be with.

It didn't take him long to figure out that it would be cheaper to stay in Cordelia's one bedroom, unfurnished, infested apartment rather than a similar type motel room. For half the rent, Cordelia let him sleep on the couch. Cordelia let him stay.

It sure did piss Cordy off that he got a job before she did. It didn't matter that his job consisted of mostly carrying stuff for other people and hammering in nails. He was working in show business and that was all that counted.

He'd joked then that maybe he'd end up like Harrison Ford and when he had explained what he meant, Cordy had given him a look that said, "If you get in the credits before I do, you're getting kicked out of my apartment".

Funny how it was Cordy's apartment, even though he had been paying more than half the rent at that point. Since he was working, he apparently had certain responsibilities. And though Cordelia grumbled about his stinky socks and cheap pizza every other night, she let him stay.

Summer passed, autumn came. Life went on and even though Xander had more than enough money for ten bus tickets back to Sunnydale, even though Cordelia had started working with Angel and could afford the rent all herself, she never asked Xander to leave.

They got a better apartment, free of supernatural presences and roaches. Xander had checked for both. They got a car and a bed and a working fridge filled with edible food. And Xander no longer slept on the couch in the living room.

He tries to take Cordy out whenever he can. Sometimes they go to Caritas for drinks. Once Cordy asked why they came here and Xander told her the place reminded him of Willy's, which made Cordy smile. Caritas has class, something Willy's was severely lacking. So what if Caritas was a demon karaoke bar. It was violence free and the drinks were more than decent.

Sometimes, Cordy could get Xander to sing, something Lorne highly endorsed. Xander had a decent voice, if untrained, and the ability to understand rhythm.

But tonight, they're spending the night together in their apartment. Just the two of them. It's been three years since they left Sunnydale together. An anniversary of sorts.

Sunnydale feels so far away. And even though there are demons, vampires and things that go bump in the night in LA, this isn't Sunnydale. They have never felt this far way from that Hellmouth.

"Marry me." The question comes suddenly. Xander, surprised, turns to his girlfriend. He's not quite sure what he's hearing.

"Marry me." Cordy says again and Xander can hear a hint of exasperation on the edge of her words.

There are a million and one things to say to that, one good reason to say no. 'My parents. You don't want to end up like them, do you? Cause that is what'll happen.' Except Cordy's not pregnant and they've been out of high school three years and Xander doesn't touch alcohol and they're really in love. But most important of all, Cordelia is asking him to stay.

And there is only one thing you can say to the woman whose breasts you are cupping with your hands, kissing you in the moonlight. "Yes."

They fall down into the bed, making love. Then they fall asleep in each other's embrace and don't even notice when they world ends.

**End**

**Author Notes:** Just thought I should explain the last line. Since Xander was in LA with Cordelia, Xander wasn't in Sunnydale to stop Willow from destroying the world.


	5. Balance: Buffy and Riley

**Balance: Buffy and Riley**

Technically, she's supposed to be Riley's dog. An Irish setter, like the one he had as a kid with the totally unimaginative name of Rusty. She become Buffy's dog the moment Buffy, slightly more imaginative than her then husband to be, named her Togo.

Togo followed Buffy everywhere. Oh, she let Riley take her for runs and would accept food from any and everybody but she was Buffy's dog. She there to greet Buffy after work and she would sit under Buffy's chair at the table. And she'd always follow Buffy to the mailbox and would wait patiently as Buffy looks though the envelopes for something other than junk mail and bills.

Today Buffy's luck was in, a postcard from Xander. According to the postcard, he was in Fairbanks, Alaska with a girl named Tracy. Or at least, he was two weeks ago when he sent this. Every postcard it's a new place and a new girl, like he's looking for something he lost. Or someone.

There is no return address. He never stays long enough in one place to need one. But that's okay. He also has an e-mail address, which he has been known to occasionally check. Buffy can get a hold of him if she needs to, which is more than she can say for Dawn. At least Xander came to her wedding.

Occasionally there's a letter from Dawn. Once there was a phone message, brief, like her letters. They all sounded as if Dawn was lost in some sort incoherent haze. They all sounded sad. They all said not much at all.

Dawn never asks for money. Buffy wishes she would. Then there would be a return address and Buffy would know where her little sister has run off to.

They hired a detective, years ago, but with no luck. If Dawn Summers didn't want to be found, Dawn Summers would not be found. There was nothing but hope that the next letter would have a return address.

That was Buffy's only good reason for not moving, when nothing else was holding her. Nothing but the horrible knowledge that if they moved, Dawn wouldn't know, Buffy would stop receiving her already rare letter and Buffy would lose her sister completely.

Riley refrains from saying, "You've already lost her. You're just holding on to a ghost."

Buffy knows this without needing Riley to say so. Sometimes she wonders that it might hurt less to let her go. Call her dead in her mind, bury what she left behind and let her go. Like Buffy let her mother go. Like she let her father go. Like she let Angel go.

And Buffy really does want to leave it all behind. The sadness here is painful, lonely and empty. And Riley makes a good, logical argument, "It's too expensive to keep this place. It's too big for two people. Let's move into a smaller place. An apartment, like Anya and Xander had."

True, true and temping. Still, she hopes for a return address.

They aren't exactly poor but money's tight. They're both still in school and Riley's severance money is going to run out sooner than later. And the place IS too big for just the two of them. Without mom. Without Dawn. Without friends. Without children.

It is the last one that hits her hardest of all, though she can't imagine why. She never wanted children… until she couldn't have them.

Buffy remembers the day she'd gone to the doctor. She'd missed her period. No big deal, really. It had always been sporadic at best and it wasn't their first scare but the pregnancy tests, both of them, had been inconclusive. So, she had gone to the doctor, who told her she wasn't pregnant but wanted to set an appointment with a specialist anyway.

In an office with blue carpeting and white egg shell walls, the specialist told Riley and Buffy that Buffy was infertile. Her ovaries had shut down and the precise eggs inside her were dead and useless. The specialist had said it in much politer, empathic way, of course, but it came down to the same thing. Buffy couldn't have kids.

Riley tried to take it like a man or, rather, how he thought a man should take it. He said there were always fertility treatments and adoption options. He tried to be supportive when it was himself who needed support. He wanted children more than Buffy could ever guess and he wanted them with his wife.

Buffy wanted answers. She called the first woman she could think of who could give her them, Willow, who studied slayer lore in England. If this malfunction had anything to do with slayage, Willow would have answers. Unfortunately, Willow did have the answer. She tried to explain gently that when a slayer is called, a power is thrust into their body and, sometimes, non vital organs would get damaged. It's a trade off, giving up one thing for another. Willow was very sorry.

Buffy thanked Willow in as calm as voice as she could muster, hung up the receiver and threw the phone into the wall, shattering plastic and plaster.

That had been two months ago. Now, in the present, Buffy is thinking of writing a letter to Dawn, in hopes that she'll have something to send when she finally has an address to send something to.

She thinks of Xander, still wandering, still searching, and of Willow, her searching done. She thinks of herself, and Riley and their love and the children she will never have.

Buffy closes the mailbox door and heads back into her far too empty house she can't risk to give up and can't afford to keep. Togo follows her faithfully.

**End**

**Author Notes:** So, that's the end of that. Please leave a review to tell me what you think.


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